


Revelation

by Ceebee



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Magic Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 01:41:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceebee/pseuds/Ceebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And now here they were, with Merlin clutching the mantelpiece and Arthur clutching the chair, and the dancing flames refusing to reflect in either of their eyes, which were usually so bright and blue.<br/>“Please,” Merlin whispered, one more time, his face the very image of desperation, and of hope. <i>Please.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Revelation

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was very much inspired by the song _No Light, No Light_ by Florence and the Machine. Also, it hasn't been beta'd, so I'm just hoping there aren't any crazy mistakes :s

_You are the hole in my head  
_ _You are the space in my bed  
_ _You are the silence in between  
_ _What I thought and what I said_

Merlin didn’t remember instructing his arm to move. Didn’t remember thinking the order which made his eyes burn like red hot coals in his face, feeling as if his eyelids were melting and dripping over his cheekbones as familiar magic coursed through him. He couldn’t remember casting the spell but then, really, he never could. It was always the aftermath which he recalled with perfect clarity.

Sometimes, lives were saved, and that heat which bubbled beneath his skin would for a moment increase till it was a heady, comforting burn of victory, before gently receding and leaving him chilled and tingling. At other times though, people were injured or people died, and anguish would cause the warmth to turn to ice, sharp behind his eyes, cutting and painful.

Merlin wondered if other people with magic... if they experienced the same thing. The same intense connection that he shared with his powers which, when he was younger, had made him think he was cursed, rather than blessed.

He wondered, but he never asked. Even Gaius didn’t know what went on beneath the surface, whenever Merlin’s eyes flashed that pretty, searing gold.

And he probably never would, the warlock thought numbly, as his eyes faded back to blue, and the blood cooled in his veins. The main hall was full of people, and all of them had their gazes fixed on his face, mouths hanging open in shock because Merlin, _Merlin_ , the King’s _servant_ , had magic. Magic which he had just used, seemingly out of instinct, to knock aside the man who had charged into the room, dagger poised to throw at Arthur’s heart.

The man in question now lay dead, Merlin was sure, skull shattered as he had slammed into the far wall, blood trickling from beneath his fringe and dripping sickeningly into his slack, open mouth.

The silence was all consuming, pressing in at Merlin from all sides, as the people refused to even mutter in confusion. They were all waiting, he suddenly realised, waiting for Arthur, their leader, to voice his decision.  Merlin, who had been looking everywhere but at the one place that mattered, suddenly sought out his King, wanting to see his face, his eyes, to know where they both stood.

But the moment Merlin lifted his eyes, everyone seemed to snap into action, moving and shouting, crowding around the servant, only to be parted by the guards who strode forwards, and wrapped strong hands around Merlin’s upper arms. Merlin wondered dazedly whether Arthur had ordered them to seize him with a silent nod of the head, when the manservant hadn’t been looking.

Now the King was nowhere to be seen- he must have already left the hall. Merlin twisted fruitlessly for a moment, trying to wrench his arms free, before yelling desperately,  
“Arthur! Arth-“ a hand slammed into the side of his head, cutting him off and making him gasp. He turned wide eyes on the guard who had struck him, but was met only by a visor. Cold and metal and unforgiving.

Merlin sucked in a dizzying breath, trying to pretend that everything wasn’t shimmering from behind the water pooling in his eyes.

He was sure that the journey from the main hall to Arthur’s chambers had never taken this long before. Although, it could have been that his efforts to struggle free every time they turned a corner, slowed them down considerably. He guessed that he could have used magic, but at that point it wasn’t really an option. He was far too used to keeping it hidden, that now it was reluctant to be set free. Even after he had been exposed in front of all those people, Emrys was unwilling to put Merlin at risk.

When they finally reached Arthur’s door, the guard to his left knocked. One hollow thud of metal on wood, and then a voice admitted them entrance. Merlin was pushed inside, and he stumbled over the rug, before coming to a halt, head lowered and hands clasped behind his back, twisting in sweaty agitation.

He heard Arthur dismiss the guards, and swallowed, wondering what it could mean.

The only thing Merlin could be certain of, was that he wouldn’t die. He would escape, because how could a dead man protect someone who remained living? So, he wouldn’t die, but there were worse things, or things equally as bad which he would no doubt have to suffer through. But, first, he had to _explain_.

“Arthur,” he started, lifting his head, half hoping to be met by the King’s face, to look into his eyes. But Arthur was leaning with his hands gripping the back of his chair, staring into his fire. A tiny shiver worked its way up Merlin’s spine as he too looked at the flames, and it was like his skull was being knocked down and then rebuilt into the shape of a pyre, ready to be set alight.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Arthur pushed himself upright, although with one hand still on the chair, and finally turned to look at his servant. Well. The pair of them had always struggled with what Merlin’s title ought to be- a name had yet to be invented, which suited a man who served, loved and sacrificed as often as Merlin did.

Anyway. Arthur was looking straight into Merlin’s face, and his eyes were dull, like shadows, not even flickering in the firelight.

“I don’t understand,” Merlin whispered, shaking his head ever so slightly. How could Arthur not want to talk about it? How could he just stand there, quietly, after Merlin had bloody killed a man, with bloody _magic_. And this, Merlin realised, this was so much harder than it would have been, if Arthur had demanded everything. If he had called Merlin out on every last detail, and questioned him until time ended, and Merlin’s voice itched and cracked under the strain and weight of divulging so many secrets, and putting ends to so many lies.  This was harder, because Arthur wasn’t giving Merlin a chance, and there was suddenly no hope for redemption. With seven words, Arthur had blocked any path Merlin might have taken to lighten his load, and suddenly that load was crushing him.

Everything which he had managed to keep hidden for so long was now far too heavy, so that it _ached_ where it rested in his mind and in his heart. Merlin’s knees buckled slightly, and he just caught himself by staggering to the mantelpiece and clinging to it, eyes shutting for an instant as he inhaled deeply. When his eyes opened again, Arthur was still standing there, watching.

“You have to. You have to hear it, you have to hear _me_ , Arthur. Please,” Merlin was begging. He had never been ashamed to tell Arthur what he wanted, and now so much more was at stake. This was what Merlin _needed_ , and Arthur had to give it to him.

 

*

 

Arthur hesitated. The truth was, was that he had known, for months. Since before even Uther had died, and since then there had been so many opportunities for Merlin, his Merlin, to come clean it was almost laughable. On the one hand, it had been a relief- if Merlin never revealed himself, Arthur wouldn’t ever have to deal with the idea that magic wasn’t everything his father had made it out to be. He wouldn’t have to confront the fact that the man-child who he had slowly but surely been falling in love with was in some ways just a great vat of irony, waiting to be spilled.

But it was more difficult than the King would have dreamed, to watch and wait for someone else to tell you something you already knew, just so you could finally say that it was okay. Just so you could say that they trusted you, and you didn’t need to question your own adequacy anymore.

And now here they were, with Merlin clutching the mantelpiece and Arthur clutching the chair, and the dancing flames refusing to reflect in either of their eyes, which were usually so bright and blue.  
“Please,” Merlin whispered, one more time, his face the very image of desperation, and of hope. _Please_.

Arthur sighed, wearily, because despite having waited so long for Merlin to open up, he had found that, tonight, he just didn’t want to hear it. Sure, he had had Merlin brought to his chambers, but that was because he couldn’t bear the idea of the man being thrown into the dungeons. Looking at him, Arthur could see that he had already taken some kind of beating, and there was a bruise blossoming like some hideous flower over his cheekbone.  
“Come here,” he voiced, softly but firmly, in a tone that left no room for disobedience or argument.

Still, this was Merlin, and it took him a moment or two to follow Arthur’s order, expression uncertain as he moved to stand before Arthur, every exhale audible and sweet.

The King’s touch wasn’t exactly gentle, but it wasn’t rough either, as he cupped Merlin’s jaw, tilting his head slightly to get a good look at the injury. It was even darker up close, mottled and purple in the stuttering light.  
“The guards,” Merlin explained. Arthur didn’t ask why the idiot hadn’t tried to defend himself. Arthur had long since decided that Merlin did what he did, and there often wasn’t a point in trying to find out why. Instead, he nodded, a broad thumb rubbing soft circles into the skin of Merlin’s throat, before his hand fell away entirely.

“Tell me.” He said it lowly, so that if Merlin had stood but a few inches further away, he would’ve had to lip read Arthur’s request. For a second, Merlin gaped, and then he nodded, an eager bob of the head.  
“Okay,” he breathed, still nodding, “okay.”

And the words did come, eventually, but it was more of a struggle than he could have ever anticipated. Merlin wondered, even as he spoke, why it had been so damn easy to use magic in front of a crowd of people but now, here alone with Arthur, it was costing him everything.

And by the end, he was still nowhere near finished. They had moved to sit on the bed, when Merlin had started to lag, the pounding in the side of his face getting to him, and his legs trembling with the effort to go on. But Arthur had shown no signs of weakness, merely waiting for Merlin to continue, as they sat side by side, Merlin’s knee bouncing against his, as his body tried to keep him from falling asleep.

 

*

 

When the sun rose outside, it burst violently through Arthur’s window, making Merlin’s pupils dilate in surprise. The fire had died long ago, and morning had been strangely unexpected. Beams of lights played on Merlin’s face, kneading across his bruise with bright, dusty fingers. His eyes slid shut, as he allowed the pleasant sensation to overwhelm him.

He wondered whether, now the new day was here, it was all over. Perhaps Arthur had been waiting for the sun as an indication to stop Merlin from speaking, and have him taken away. Perhaps this long night of talking had been their final night as a whole, and now Merlin was to be cast out, brutally separated from his other half.

The thought mixed unpleasantly with Merlin’s tired mind, and he felt tears beginning to build up and then spill over his bottom lashes, creeping out of the pink corners of his eyes.

That was when Arthur noticed Merlin’s silence. Throughout the night, Merlin had stopped talking several times, only to continue of his own accord a few moments later or, if it had been several minutes, with a firm prompt from Arthur, who had decided that if Merlin wanted to talk, he would talk till dawn. It was an awful, sadistic thought which Arthur had felt disgusted with the moment it had made itself known in his head but, when it appeared that talking was actually helping Merlin- making it look as though tension was steadily draining from the soft lines in his forehead- he had decided that perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea.

Now he twisted his head to look at Merlin, who had his eyes shut tight, with tears drawing lines over the bridge of his nose and trickling over his lips.  
“Merlin,” he murmured, voice breaking slightly after not having been used for so long. It was Arthur’s ears that were in need of a rest. So many words were teeming inside them, nestling against the lobes and dancing across the rims, that he was surprised they hadn’t simply blocked up at some point during the night, in an effort to protect Arthur from all the things Merlin had told him.

Merlin’s eyelids fluttered before jumping open.

“There’s more,” he croaked, coughing slightly, because he had spoken about Freya and Will and his father, but there were still so many things. Things about Morgause, and Uther and Arthur’s mother, and Morgana. Things about-  
“I know,” Arthur shifted, an arm looping around Merlin’s waist and drawing him close.

Merlin froze for a moment, before allowing himself to be guided till his head was resting on Arthur’s shoulder. All his muscles seemed to have developed a tremor, which would not stop, causing him to vibrate with restlessness, or exhaustion, or both. Arthur just held onto him tightly, his cheek resting atop Merlin’s dark curls, which tickled his nose, and brushed over his lips.

“I’ll go, soon,” Merlin said, after a moment, before yawning widely, burying his face against Arthur’s neck, “I know I can’t stay.”

At that, Arthur’s grip tightened slightly, and he almost growled, “that’s not up to you, Merlin.”  
“What do you mean?” Merlin blinked, and the small movement seemed to cost him superhuman effort.  
“I mean that _you_ don’t get to choose what stays and what goes.”  
“But,” Merlin took a breath, fighting back sleep, determined to understand, “but I thought... after everything I’ve told you... why would you want me to stay? I’m _magic_ , Arthur!”  
“Yes, I think that’s been established,” Arthur’s tone was mostly exasperated, but there was a tiny hint of something more affectionate, as he shifted, dislodging Merlin from his shoulder, and moving him till he was lying on his side, curled up on the bed.

Merlin’s hands fisted in the blankets, as he shivered convulsively, unable to come to terms with what Arthur might be telling him.  
“Let go, Merlin,” and Merlin wasn’t sure if he was talking about Merlin’s grip on the covers, or if he meant something more metaphorical, like the way his mind was grappling with something just out of reach; with the warm, comforting idea that Arthur might want him still.  
“Can’t,” he said, quietly, because he really was wound too tight. The day had been too long coming, and...and...

And Arthur was there, solid and _present_ , his chest against Merlin’s back, his breath silky across the hairs at Merlin’s nape.  
“Can.” Was his steady reply and somewhere, in some hollowed out space, that word held a thousand others, all promising that everything, somewhere along the line, would be okay.

_You are the night time fear_  
 _You are the morning when it’s clear  
_ _When it’s over you’re the start  
_ _You’re my head and you’re my heart_


End file.
